Oraculum
by pansophy
Summary: Lord Asriel's boyhood as told from Thorold's perspective
1. Prologue

A first attempt at fanfic. Probably a few parts long.

**Prologue**

A man doesn't have to marry to have a family. No woman ever came along that I could call the love of my life; my work, the people I serve, they were my loves. I have served the same family all my life and my father before me and his father before that. I have seen births, deaths, and tragedies, without ever having once said a word. I was the silent spectator to the horror. My eyes saw the tragedy that would unfold as others blindly stumbled down the path toward destruction, oblivious to the fate that was so clear to the objective bystander, powerless to intervene. My ears heard the malicious whispers and heartbroken wails that were drowned out behind thick doors of the wealthy elite, as if the words were never uttered. My heart felt the fleeting joy and the ever present pain caused by the death of a beautiful soul on a stormy winter night so many years ago. My soul is forever stained with the tears of the young and the wicked deeds of the old.

I have watched my master grow up to be a strong and ferocious man but unlike the rest of the world, I've seen his vulnerable side too. I've seen his heartache; I've seen what drives him. I never had a son. In many ways my master was like the son I never had, when he was younger and I more like a father than a manservant.

I wonder, sitting in this godforsaken cottage at the peak of a cold cliff, if I'll ever see him again.

My eye sight is failing, my hearing near gone but it is my tired old heart that tells me that I won't.

I was one of the first people to lay eyes on the child when he was born. In the dead of winter as the clock struck twelve he made his dramatic entrance into the world; the tiniest thing I had ever seen that made the most unholy racket until he was placed in the arms of his weak and fragile mother, too ill to know if she was holding her child or not. The Lady Gabriella had nearly lost her life giving birth to him and as the doctors attended to her, I was charged with the task of taking the newborn to the master, Lord Agonese.

As the fierce wind howled around the thick stone walls of The Manor, I remember cradling him close, swathed in the finest cashmere blankets imported from the Empire, as I carried him down the vast and cavernous corridors. Above us on the walls hung portraits of his father's ancestors, stern and proud with conceited sneers on pale white faces framed with the darkest hair and angriest of brows glared down upon us. The child, nestled in my arms and crying lustily, bore not the slightest resemblance to any of his father's predecessors. He was the picture of perfection in my arms: deep, dark blue eyes and pale blond hair framed his face that, but for the scowl upon his tiny features, would have made him look like an angel.

Even his scowl that caused his newborn brow to furrow in despair was not the dark and dangerous glare of his father but the sneer of cool command that would from time to time grace his mother's exquisite features. He was every inch his mother's child, now torn from her warm and tender embraces and thrust into the cold and dangerous world of his father.

A tall and proud man, full of scorn and evil thought to the extent that hatred rather than blood flowed through his veins, he showed not the slightest interest in his newborn child. Until the day I depart this world, I will never forget the look on Lord Agonese's face when I informed him it was a son. There was no love nor fatherly affection; rather a deep seated hatred and contempt flashed through those deadened grey eyes as they slithered over the bundle in my arms. His daemon hissed, uncoiling herself from around his neck and arching her head as those black beads glistened and narrowed to glimmering slits.

"It's a boy. M'Lord." I had stated after the Butler showed me into his study where he stood with his back to the window.

"A son?" he had replied in his acrid tones.

"Healthy enough. The Good Lady Gabriella is weak but alive."

"I don't recall asking after the bitch." His angry snarl made all the more disturbing by the hiss from his powerful daemon as she slid with a dangerous grace from his arm and onto the floor. "Didn't kill her off then? More's the pity."

"She's asked to name the boy Asriel, M'Lord." I added, my eyes never once leaving his daemon as she began to sway her hypnotic dance. The child in my arms, having fallen silent the moment we had entered the room lay mesmerized. "After the Authority's angels since he spared their lives."

"Religion!" he had snorted. "One of the girl's many faults. Tell her to do as she pleases; she usually does so anyway! I couldn't care less!" He turned away from the window, as his daemon slithered towards him, entwining herself with him as she slid back into position draped across his shoulders.

"M'Lord."

"And remove that - that - thing at once. I don't want to lay eyes on it, do you hear, Thorold?" He barked, his eyes narrowing as his daemon, the cursed thing that she was hissed softly into his ear, pointed tongue flickering and beaded eyes glittering with a savage hate.

"M'Lord."

I'm not ashamed to admit I fled from the room as fast as my legs would carry me, my daemon cowering at my feet. That daemon was by far the most terrifying thing I have ever had the misfortune of encountering in my life; far more disturbing even than the creatures that haunt the cliffs of Svalbard. Had I not seen it with my own eyes I would never have believed there existed a daemon with such a dark power as Lord Agonese's albino python. For when the snake began to sway and caught the attention of her victim, he was powerless to look away, his own daemon left limp and defenseless as the python slithered towards it and crushed it to death in its deadly embrace. For a moment, standing before my master, I had felt myself go, unable to move or speak as I felt my arms loosen around the child, knowing that in another second that malevolent ghost would have the infant daemon, that small ball of exposed and vulnerable fur tucked away deep in the folds of the blankets near the infant's heart, unable to hear or see or shape change in its newborn bliss. Another second and the flame that had only just begun to burn would be extinguished forever with one soul destroying squeeze.

I made a vow as I hurried back to my Mistress's room not to leave the child's side until such time as I knew if his mother were to live or die.

By day break, we had our answer.


	2. Prophecy

**Prophecy**

"There is a prophecy."

With a heavy sigh and solemn expression, the young priest shuddered and turned away from the window, casting his weary, apprehensive gaze upon the still figure on the bed. Her flowing golden hair, twisted into delicate curls, lay spread across the silk pillows like a halo around her head. To the stranger who was to walk through the door, she looked at peace; tranquillity personified. Only those who had borne witness to the traumatic events of the night knew that through ruby red lips came the tenderest taken breath as green eyes fluttered behind eerily translucent eyelids. The dullness that had haunted them hours before in the aftermath of her son's arrival had begun to ebb, the flicker of life appearing as she heard her child's mournful cry only to fade away as she once more gave in to the darkness that surrounded her and threatened to engulf her at any moment.

"There is a prophecy," He repeated, even more softly this time as he clasped his hands in silent prayer and took a step towards the crib. It was a work of art in itself, commissioned by the Good Lady upon her discovery that she was with child. Made of the finest mahogany, palace artisans had carved breath takingly detailed depictions of armoured bears and twinkling stars.

I stood in a stony silence, watching over my mistress and new charge with a fearsome pride. The priest had been summoned by the Good Lady when the first pains of child birth had begun, for she would want the child baptised immediately. However, no-one from the church had materialised until shortly before day break, when this young and shaken boy wearing the ceremonial robs of a bishop that made him seem like a small child playing dress up arrived at the doors of the Manor House, demanding to see the child for himself.

"Tonight," he continued, his voice trembling, "tonight we witnessed a phenomenon so rare as to only happen once in every millennia. Tonight as the sun set and the Aurora fluttered into life, explorers reported seeing _it_."

"Seeing _what_?" A sharp demand from Mrs. Mills, a no-nonsense woman who had raised the Good Lady Gabriella as if she were her own and now fussed over the girl as she lay hovering between this world and the next. "Spit it out, boy!"

"The Green Flash." The priest hissed. "The spirit world and ours colliding. A sign from the Dark Lord Himself. He who was banished from Highest Heaven for sins so unspeakable…." The priest trailed off and ran a trembling hand down his pasty face. "It is written that there will be a child born on this day, when the Green Flash blinds all those who bear witness to it. A child born of Royal Blood but bathed in sin who will bring about _terrible _things. _Unspeakable _things so horrific as to repulse Satan himself."

"Poppycock," Mrs. Mills uttered shortly, dabbing her beloved Gabriella's brow. "Utter poppycock."

"There are signs. There are omens. There is a prophecy," the Priest uttered, his voice becoming shrill. "I shall not be the one who brings this child into the fold. Mark my words; if this child is to live, mankind will be destroyed."

"Priests!" Mrs. Mills muttered to herself as the young man fled from the room, his daemon cooing in agitation as she fluttered above him. Turning her attention back to her charge, Mrs. Mills momentarily forgot herself and her stern and stiff upper lip as she smiled in sheer delight to see Gabriella's eyes open. "That's it my dear, time to wake up." Letting out a troubled sigh, Mrs Mills caught my eye and muttered once more to herself, this time lacking the conviction of before: "Prophecies! Poppycock!"

But she was troubled, for when our Mistress had drawn her last breath I had not been alone. Mrs Mills had been in the room alongside me, tears clouding her tired eyes as she had struggled to contain her grief for a slip of a girl whom she had chased all over the Palace as a child. She had been there when the silent shadow had slipped through the window and breathed fresh life into the pale ghost before us. She knew, as well as I did that dark things had happened in this room. She knew, as well as I did that there would be consequences for the choices made.

"She said before sunrise," Mrs Mills muttered to me, dabbing her mistress' brow and glancing out into the fading darkness, "you'd better hurry. She won't wait."

Comforted by the knowledge that my mistress would pull through and that she and her infant son would be safe in the care of Mrs. Mills, I slipped from the room. I was more than a little surprised to find myself face to face with my Master – so much so that in my haste I very nearly forgot to bow. Dark and savage eyes twinkling with a dangerous delight, he smiled with cold grace at my grovelling and reached out a hand to stroke the sleek scales of his daemon.

"A son, you did say a _son _did you not, Thorold?" he demanded in his low and venomous tone. When I nodded my affirmative, his daemon's ruby eyes glistened and glittered with feverish delight and for a moment I felt as if I were drowning in their dark and depraved depths.

His sudden change of heart came not from any paternal stirrings, of that I was certain. Rather, I knew in that sickening moment that my Master had quite literally just been given the keys to the kingdom. For he was a greedy man, driven by a mighty ego that knew no bounds. Never satisfied with what he had, my Master had demanded more and more power only to find that his dream was to be snatched from his fingertips by a mere slip of a girl whom he had credited with little intelligence and no real importance. Now, the same girl who had destroyed his chances of ruling had given him another way to achieve the impossible.

She had produced an heir.

The young priest had been right; the newborn child was surrounded by prophecy and power struggles but not of the holy kind. Rather a royal family left in ruins and divided by tragic events and treachery. A king on the throne who was not of royal blood. A princess in captivity, striped of her inheritance by her own selfless act of bravery that sentenced her to a lifetime of misery. A powerful aristocrat, the most senior in the land, who wanted what was not his by right but by a marriage and had been snatched beyond his reach.

And now, in the middle of it, was a child.

Shuddering not from the cold, I raced down the stair case and risked the wrath of my Master, should he see me, by using the main door rather than taking the time to go through the kitchens and out of the servants' door; for I was fearful that she would have gone already, melting once more into the night as quickly as she had come, a silent saviour. However, she remained, half hidden in the trees that stood on guard on either side of the imposing carriageway up to the Manor.

"You brought her back from the dead," I said knowing it to be both a question and a statement.

"One drop of the potion is sufficient to sustain her life forces," the melodic reply floated through the darkness, "until such time as her purpose here has been fulfilled. I can not say if she will live for ten more minutes or ten thousand years. Our magic is powerful but we can not predict the future. Not can I prevent the inevitable, I can but delay it."

"So the Good Lady will live?" I pressed her anxiously.

A pale and delicate hand trembled as she reached out to stroke her daemon, the most magnificent goose I had ever laid eyes on. The witch was silent, studying me with a fierce intensity. Flushing under her scrutiny, for it felt as if my very soul lay exposed before her, sins and all, I waited until a soft sigh escaped her lips as she nodded wearily: "For now. It is a deep magic that brings the soul back from wherever it goes – I do not pretend to understand it. It is not a magic we undertake lightly."

"Will you stay?" I asked, gesturing towards the Manor behind me. "There are plenty of rooms in the Servants Quarters – not the most luxurious I'll grant you but there you may rest and regain some strength. The Good Lady will be most anxious to thank you when she wakes."

A soft, sad laugh darkened her face as she fetched her cloud pine from behind a tree.

"No," she sighed softly, "no, I can not stay although your kindness is noted Thorold. Nor should you ever tell your Mistress of my visit. She would not thank me."

Turning her mournful eyes to the heavens, her face crinkled with unbridled joy to watch the last few stars twinkle and dance in the night sky. "By the time we see their light, the star is already dead," she mused. "humans' lives are just as brief. We love our daughters for centuries but our sons we mourn. My son has left a legacy and I will protect it at all costs."

Perching delicately on her cloud pine, her cold hand touched my shoulder as those youthful eyes that glistened with a wisdom of the years bore into my soul: "He will be a great man, Thorold, raise him well and guard him from harm."

My solemn promise to do so was lost in the gust of wind and swish of pine needles as she faded once more into the remnants of the night sky.


End file.
